To Which We Forget
by Jokestress
Summary: Mark finds that things aren't as they should be anymore, according to Roger's journal. Also, a new conspiracy starts in the land of the remaining Bohemians, involving a new girl whom has caught his eye.


**To Which We Forget**

**By: Markel**

**Rating: T**

**Summary: Mark finds that things aren't as they should be anymore, according to Roger's journal. Also, a new conspiracy starts in the land of the remaining Bohemians, involving a new girl whom has caught his eye.**

**Warning: Death, violence, and language in later chapters.**

**Notes: This story is for The Elfmaniac. I love you, Erin.**

**Disclaimer: All of the RENT characters do not belong to me. Amelia was Erin's idea.

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I. Thoughts

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The point is that he can forgive, but never forget. Mark's that kind of person, a withdrawn individual with a mind. A mind is what stores the memories that are forgiven, and supposedly forgotten in the eyes of people around him. It was the truth Roger had spoken when he had said that Mark was in his work, hiding behind it. Once he had gotten finished with his documentary and had quit Buzzline, he had nowhere else to hide, so he became just a bit more withdrawn into himself. He didn't go out as much, and stopped talking to most people besides his closest friends, well, the ones whom were left as you well know.

Today was a Friday, well, tonight, actually. Roger had gone out to eat with Mimi again, though they all knew that she was to die soon, be it of the drugs or AIDs. We'll assume, however, that it was out of our grasp. Mark was alone in the loft, laying on the couch that had lasted them so many years, though springs and lumps of cushion proved hazardous. What they couldn't fix was covered with either pillows or avoided. A dim light came from a candle on the small coffee table before him, and he had his feet upon the old wood, avoiding the hot wax dripping from the candle. A small shuffle was heard from his position when he moved slightly, feeling the cushion he was sitting on rub against something hard. He moved again a few moments later, feeling it again.

Once convinced that something was underneath the couch cushion, he leaned forward, taking his feet off of the warped wood and feeling around beneath the fabric, almost cutting himself on a bent spring but avoiding it narrowly. His hands enclosed around a small book, and he pulled it out, staring at it. It had Roger's handwriting on it.

'Journal' was what it was named. A simple gesture, and it was also scrawled onto the fading notebook's front cover. The composition book was nearly falling apart, but a few pieces of the glue held the papers in place from when it was originally made. There was no lock, no 'Private' sign on it, so he figured it alright to open and read it. Even though it looked old, it was actually new, the oldest entry dating from last Sunday.

'My other journal fell apart,' was the beginning of the scratch-like writing, 'so, I bought another one. Mark's probably going to ask me where the three dollars went, but whatever.' Mark fingered the paper lightly between his index finger and thumb. He continued to read, suddenly stunned as he reached the fifth page.

'Mimi's getting sicker, and I think that I'm not the only one noticing.'

That statement made him pause for a moment to take a second to reread it a couple of times, surprised by Roger's blatant statement. He turned the page with a shaking hand, only to have his fears pressed on---Roger was writing about him, too.

'Mark's not talking, and I think something happened to him. After the documentary was finished, he stopped going outside. He also stopped talking to anyone but me, Mimi, Maureen, Joanne, and Collins. That reminds me---I hate to say it, but I think Collins stopped taking his AZT a bit after Angel died. I haven't seen him take it in a while.'

Mark's eyes scanned the paragraph again, trying to see anything but the words that were there. Collins, not taking his medicine? That was crazy. Everyone knew that Collins wasn't the type of guy to let go of himself like this, but apparently they were wrong. Mark's heart wrenched a bit, but he continued to read, listing a bit carefully for the approaching footsteps of Roger and Mimi, should they come.

'I haven't said anything to anyone, especially Mark. I've always had the idea, you know, that he was emotional. After this, I guess that I was right. As much as I hate to say it, I think that he's close to his edge.'

This sent Mark into a sort of rage, he almost letting the flame of the candle catch onto the notebook's spine. It was about a needle's worth of closeness to the amber flame before the strong feeling of curiosity surged within him. He slowly brought back the book, opening it again and to the next page.

'I'm going out tonight on a date with Mimi. She's hiding something, but I know what it is. She went to the doctor a few days ago, and got another check-up. It seems to me like she's scared, but I see through it all. Mimi's dying. My Mimi is dying the same way that April did, and I can't help her. The Bohemian family we once had is dying, too. Angel's dead, Mimi's dying, Collins is getting sicker by the day, and Mark's a faint whisper of what he used to be. Maybe it's true, maybe he will be the last one to survive.'

A pang of guilt hit him as he flipped to the page after that, tear slipping from his eye as he read the last words before the page was blank.

'If he survives, though, it won't be much of an attempt for survival. He's less of a person than a zombie is.'

He felt a bit worse at that moment, before hearing a pair of footsteps. He quickly closed the book, and shoved it back underneath the sofa. At that moment, the door opened, and Roger walked in, closely followed by Mimi and one other.

"Mark, this is Amelia."

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End of chapter one. I hope you liked it, Erin. 


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